


Kinda Cosmic

by ZermineOnTheMount



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dana Scully, Canon Rewrite, Drama & Romance, Epic, Episode: s11e10 My Struggle IV, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-08 04:33:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14097303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZermineOnTheMount/pseuds/ZermineOnTheMount
Summary: SIT THE FUCK DOWN Chris Carter.A re-imagining of the series, starting from "This is Not Happening" in Season 08 through the events of Season 11, with MORE SEX, more RELATIONSHIP DRAMA, and more HAPPY ENDINGS. Scully and Reyes are the main characters, and they're both bisexual (*wink wink*).Tried to keep everyone in character, the major difference being that Monica now has a backstory, and her "metaphysical proclivities" are revealed to be full blown ESP.





	1. Flying's A Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own these characters (even though I treat them way better than their creator does); I'm not profiting from this work; yadda yadda, Chris Carter, FOX network, etc.

“Folks, we will begin boarding flight four-five-two-one with service to New Orleans momentarily! That’s flight four-five-two-one…”

Reyes threw her body weight, shoulder first, into the plastic screen and it was like someone had kicked a bass drum with a steel-toed boot: The sound of the impact boomed through the one-room terminal and every head turned towards her. The vending machine rocked and tottered on its feet, the red digital “$1.50” above the bill feeder flickered and disappeared, but still the dumb thing refused to disgorge the Snickers bar that was dangling from D11’s defective coil. “Dammit!” She turned away from the thing, cradling her bandaged hand, which was screaming in pain from being involuntarily clenched. God, what an idiot.

Her intention was not to break the machine; not initially, at least. When she launched herself at it, though, all of the anger she’d been swallowing for the past five days surged out of her and into that dumb plastic sheet, which was now veined with shallow cracks. And her hand felt like it was on fire again. And all these people were still staring at her. She took a breath. A deep one, and focused on exhaling the pain, and the anger. Once more she glanced at the Snickers, her Snickers, hoping it might have escaped its snare, but it had not. The entire machine, now, seemed dark and unresponsive. “Shit.” Reyes dropped her head and sidled away from the machine, pretending to be interested in a constellation of chewing gum patties that was stamped into the carpet a few feet away.

A tap on the shoulder spiked her adrenaline and sent her pivoting, hands up, in a boxing stance. All those years of training, working in the violent crime unit, meant she was always on her guard. “Whoa! Easy, now!” The man held his own hands up, and took a step backwards. In a split second, Reyes determined that the man was low threat: He looked mid-sixties, overweight, palms exposed, shoelaces loose, standing slightly off-balance due to a weak left leg, an old injury, perhaps…and, most notably, wearing a bright yellow vest with the word SECURITY emblazoned across the chest. Reyes winced in pain. She was no longer the black belt FBI agent who could fracture a man’s skull with her knee; she was the misbehaving and misunderstood little girl, sitting once again in the principal’s office. What were the charges for defacing public property, again? Or was it government property?

“You wanna explain this?” The man’s voice was stern.

“The thing…the Snickers…it was stuck in the thing…but it was so close…” Reyes trailed off, finding the effort of speech suddenly, unbearably exhausting. “I’m sorry,” she said, finally. “It’s been a rough day.” She offered a weak, bitter smile. “Days, actually.”

“Rough day, huh?” The man folded his arms across his chest. “Guess that makes two of you.” He nodded at the injured vending machine. Then he stared Reyes down again. She had no further explanation, though, so she stared blankly back at him.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice breaking. “I guess...oh, no...” She was just as surprised as the security guy by the fat tears that welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. God, it felt so good to cry. She needed this, needed this release, but not here. Not now. Her face heated up with embarrassment and emotion. “Sorry,” she muttered, wiping her cheek with the back of her good hand.

The security man was old enough to be Reyes’ father. And she guessed that he probably did have a daughter because she could see him softening like butter in the sun at the sight of her distress. “Hey, now,” the man said, shuffling in place, favoring that bum left leg. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Reyes admitted. And then she burst out laughing. This was all so ridiculous.

The security guy looked around, probably wondering what was so funny. "Ma'am?"

“It was..." Reyes gasped, between fits of tears--"my last..."--and laughter--"...dollar bill...” 

The man sighed. "Your last dollar bill mighta just broke this three-thousand dollar machine, young lady.”

Young lady? Reyes held her breath. “I’m sorry,” she tried, willing herself not to laugh, especially since the rest of the security team was now watching the interaction closely, but on the exhale she was gone again in a fit of giggles.

The man chanced a hand on Reyes’ elbow. He peered at her eyes. “Ma’am, are you on something?”

At the approach of another security officer, the man held up his hand, signaling "wait."

Reyes shook her head, the hysterics having finally run their course. "I was in town for a funeral," she lied. Though it was not too far a stretch. "The death was...sudden. Unexpected." Ah, yes. That was the truth. And it sobered her immediately.

The security man nodded, as if it all made sense now. "I'm real sorry for your loss."  

"Thanks."

Just then, a hollow thud from behind drew their attention. Reyes was glad for the distraction. The lights inside the vending machine were flickering, and then there was a mechanical whoosh. The two of them gazed at the reviving machine. “Well, aren’t you lucky,” the man said.

Reyes’ eye sought D11, and found it conspicuously empty. “Son of a bitch,” she murmured, and strode over to the machine. She knelt in front of the collection tray and stuck her good hand through the flap. She withdrew it, victoriously clutching the Snickers, and, as if on cue, the vending machine beeped, and its digital display pixelated back to life. She grinned up at the security man. 

His eyebrows hiked towards his scalp. “God help the fool who comes between you and a Milky Way.”

Reyes stood up and slid the Snickers into her coat pocket. “Yeah, well. God better keep his hands off my candy bars, too.”

The man chuckled. "Listen," he said, leaning in confidentially, "I know grief can do strange things to a person."

Reyes' heart sank. She didn't deserve this man's sympathy. It wasn't her grief that mattered.

He continued: "I'm willing to forget this ever happened if you promise to go home and get some rest." He glanced at her bandaged hand. "You got family?"

“I’ll be fine,” Reyes said, quickly. Then, striving for sincerity: "Thank you. I appreciate your kindness."

The man nodded. “You take care now.”

Reyes tuned back into the P.A.: "…boarding Groups One and Two on flight four-five-two-one with service to New Orleans…"

Reyes was Group Four. She knew without double-checking her boarding pass; one of the benefits of a photographic memory. She got in line anyway, aggressively ignoring all of the other people in the single-terminal airport.

She could not get away from Helena, Montana soon enough. And a cigarette would be heaven right about now. Instead she squeezed the handle of her suitcase with her good hand. Easy, Monica, she warned herself, as the fuzz in her head intensified. She was wound up. Really wound up. It was obvious even before she slammed into the vending machine and cried in front of a total stranger. But she could not afford to have an episode here in the terminal. No way. Right now, more than ever, she needed to get a grip.

Her vision was darkening around the edges, and the vertigo was creeping in. Then she remembered why she had attacked the vending machine in the first place. Chocolate. Duh. She pulled the Snickers out of her pocket, tore open the wrapper and shoved half the bar in her mouth, chewing furiously. The sugar would help. She focused on swallowing without choking, and then went to work on the remaining half of the bar.

"Now boarding Groups Three and Four!"

Breathe, Reyes instructed herself, once she’d finished the Snickers. The calories were already kicking in, she felt her balance return. And now that she had something in her stomach…she reached into the Ziploc bag of Valium she kept in her pocket, fished out two pills, and discreetly popped them in her mouth. She took a drag from the water bottle in her purse. The drug was strong and would set in fast, but she was about to be on this goddamn plane and could buckle herself into her seat and just check out for a few hours.

The last member of Group Three disappeared into the jet bridge. Almost there…Reyes pushed the fuzz to the corners of her mind as she stepped up to the kiosk, pulled her crumpled boarding pass from her purse, and handed it to the gate attendant, purposefully avoiding eye contact. "Ma'am, you'll need to gate check that bag."

"No problem," Reyes mumbled, accepting the green tag. She did not want to deal with finding space for it in the overhead compartment, anyway. Chances were slim; it was a tiny plane and she was nearly the last one to board. She felt herself getting heavier, the Valium kicking in, as she made her way down the jet bridge. Her heels beat a hollow rhythm on the threadbare platform. She left her bag by the door and ducked into the plane. She squeezed down the narrow center aisle, all the way to the back. Row 24: Gatekeepers of the Toilets.

24B was already seated. "Excuse me," Reyes said. The man--err boy? He couldn't have been older than sixteen--looked up from his Gameboy and, at the sight of Reyes, his mouth fell open, reverently. Reyes gave him a perfunctory smile. "I've got the window."

The kid immediately jumped up, forgetting that he had already buckled himself in. Apologizing profusely, he fumbled with the clasp of the seat belt, which did a truly admirable job remaining fastened, and finally, freeing himself, spilled out into the aisle in front of Reyes. Once she’d taken her seat, she shrugged out of her coat, fastened her seat belt, and turned immediately away from 24B towards the window. She knew she had nothing to worry about from him. After that seatbelt debacle, she would be surprised if he said another word to her. Still. She wanted to get this flight over with as quickly as possible, sequester herself in her apartment with a bottle of wine and her Brady Bunch DVDs, and then throw herself back into work, into any assignment, it didn’t matter. She just desperately needed to block out that horrific night in the foothills of Montana, and everything that had happened after. God, what she wouldn’t give for a cigarette right now…if only it were the 70s, when they let you smoke on planes.

Her head was suddenly very heavy and she felt a wave of peace wash over her. Grateful, she rested her forehead against the clammy glass and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she was lying in a narrow bed. A steady, gentle beeping in the background. Someone was holding her hand. A woman in scrubs. "Just changing your dressing," said the woman. Reyes nodded. It was uncomfortable, whatever the woman--a nurse?--was doing. Extremely uncomfortable. Blinking sleep from her eyes, Reyes squinted at the nurse. She was unraveling the bandage, and, to Reyes' horror, peeling off the skin of her hand in the process.

"What are you doing?" Reyes shrieked, trying to pull her hand away. The nurse's grip was strong.

"Just relax," said the nurse. "You think this is bad, you oughta see your friend."

"What?" Reyes craned her head frantically, looking around what appeared to be a hospital. "Scully? Is she ok? Where is she?"

"Ma'am, I'm gonna need you to hold still."

"Stop it!" Reyes yelled, wrenching her arm away with the new strength of panic. She swung herself out of bed and took off down the hall. She looked in every open door, was met with blurry, unfamiliar faces, until--there. Even though she couldn't see Scully's face, she knew it was her. She was lying on her side, facing away from the door. "Scully?" Reyes approached the bed. Scully was non-responsive. Reyes' breath was shallow, her bare legs shaking, as she crept around to the other side of the bed. She realized that there were no blankets on the bed, that it was all bandages. Scully's entire body was wrapped in bandages. Her face, remarkably, had been spared. Blue eyes stared at the wall. "Oh, Dana," Reyes whispered.

Scully wouldn't look at her, but her lips parted, and she blinked. "Agent Reyes." Her voice was a thin snarl. "You should’ve just let me die."

Reyes woke up mid-gasp, and for a moment she had no idea where she was. It was dark, the air was close and dry, and her back was forced against a soft surface. Someone was right next to her, looking at her, speaking to her. "Are you alright?" the person said, in a nervous voice. "You were calling out just now..."

"Where are we?" Reyes demanded, her heart racing. 

"Umm," the person stammered. It was the boy. 24B. 

Reyes shook her head. "I mean--no, sorry, I know where we are. How long until we land?"

"I--I think we're in descent now."

Reyes looked down and realized that she was clutching the boy's hand with her own bandaged one. She let go. "Jesus. I'm so sorry," she breathed. “Nervous flier."

The boy stared at where her hand had been. "s'ok."

"How long was I...was I...what was I doing?"

"Not long. You were kinda shaking your head and twitching. Calling for someone named Dana?" 

Reyes sighed. "Bet you're sorry you got stuck sitting next to the crazy lady."

The boy smiled, embarrassed, and shook his head. Reyes couldn't help herself. She tapped into his frequency--it wasn't hard to find--to see if she had done or said something truly horrifying, and he was lying to spare her feelings. All she could make out was an image of her own chest, breasts prominent through her tee shirt, and a pair of hands lifting the shirt and--NOPE NOPE NOPE. Reyes dropped quickly out of the boy's frequency. That's enough of that.


	2. Welcome to Montana

** One Week Earlier **

Doggett spotted her right away. True, the Helena airport was tiny, and there was no “crowd” from which to pick her out, but even on the busiest of curbsides, he imagined she’d immediately draw one’s eye. This particular afternoon, she stood a head taller than the other travelers, most of whom went about their business with downcast eyes and bulky coats. Monica posed beside her suitcase in the middle of them all; chin up, gaze like a lioness, sweeping and subtle, one arm holding the other at the elbow. A lit cigarette—bad habit she’d picked up shortly after joining the Bureau—glowed between the index and middle finger of her free hand.

Doggett slowed the car, waiting for her to see him seeing her. She turned in his direction, still surveying, long coattails billowing in the wind. He waved and she clocked him through the windshield and smiled. What a smile. Her lips parted and a pool of smoke poured out of her mouth. Doggett hated the smell and taste of cigarettes, not to mention he thought smoking was the height of stupidity, but at that moment, Monica Reyes, standing on the curb amidst an aureole of smoke, was just about the sexiest thing he had ever seen. The suggestion of her hot mouth wrapped around that cigarette was not lost on him, either. Fuckin a, John, he scolded himself. Cool your jets.

He toggled the locks and was about to get out of the car to help her with her bag, but she’d already opened the rear passenger-side door and flung the bag inside with an ease that indicated what Doggett knew was a toned physique beneath the capacious trench coat. Seconds later, she ducked into the car beside him. A gust of chill air and her familiar scent—warm leathery vanilla, husky now with smoke—filled the cabin. “Sorry about this,” she muttered, pressing the button to roll down her window, and tossing the spent butt onto the pavement. She turned back to him with a guilty grin. “I really am trying to quit.”

They looked at each other for a few speechless seconds, and then Doggett broke the silence. “Monica,” he said. “It’s real good to see you.” Anticipating her affectionate tendencies—more affectionate than his, anyway—he angled his body towards her, but let her lean in to him. Without hesitation, she enfolded him in a one-armed hug and returned his greeting, but tenfold, because her lips were right beside his ear when she spoke, "you too, John," and her hair was tickling his freshly shaven cheek. God. It was like his cock was calibrated to her voice. She pulled back, though not all the way, and beamed at him, a smile so bright he felt the heaviness lift from his heart, even if just for a moment.

Once they’d turned onto the highway, Doggett brought up the Theresa Hoese case, which was the reason he’d called Reyes out here. He knew sooner or later he’d have to bring up Mulder's disappearance, and Scully's involvement in the whole thing; the possible extent of the case’s implications.

“What aren’t you telling me, John?”

Doggett glanced at his passenger and found her staring at him, eyes steady. Sooner it was, then. “Agent Scully—my partner—she believes this missing woman, Theresa Hoese, was abducted by aliens. The same aliens she thinks are responsible for the disappearance of her former partner, Agent Mulder, last spring.”

“Agent Mulder, as in ‘Fox’ Mulder?”

Doggett fidgeted in his seat. “The one and only.”

Reyes was quiet for a moment, which, of course, meant that she was rapidly drawing several, embarrassingly accurate conclusions about him, and Scully, and the apocryphal Mulder, and the vexing nature of the relationship between the three of them; and, being a woman, she was likely doing all of this from the few words he’d said, the tone in which he’d said them, and the body language he was displaying right now; and, being Monica, she was probably filing those conclusions away, privately, for now, but certainly not forever, because they would ultimately be integral to her investigative process, weighing just as heavily as actual fact. Doggett sighed. The only thing more annoying than Monica’s “intuition,” was how many times he had seen it proved right.

“I did a bit of digging before I left this morning," Reyes said. "You've left out quite a few key players in this case."

"Yeah, well, let's just say I'm not convinced those players are as key as everyone else seems to think." He knew she was giving him the look. The one with the eyebrows. He kept his eyes on the road.

"There's curiously little information available about Mulder's disappearance," Reyes continued. "Nothing credible, at least--”

“That’s just it,” Doggett cut in. “It's all a bunch of campfire stories! The Assistant Director, of all people, has been ride or die for this alien abduction theory since the day Mulder disappeared, and now he’s got Agent Scully on board the crazy train.”

“John—”

“It  _is_  crazy, Monica.”

Reyes rolled her eyes. “Well, it sounds like you three have made a highly functional investigative trio so far. I don’t know what you need me for.”

Doggett barreled ahead. “Look, this isn’t an alien we’re dealing with here. It’s a man. Or men. Probably these guys, whoever they are, get their kicks shooting laser beams in the sky, kidnapping women, and playing out some kind of sick alien abduction fantasy.”

“You think it’s a UFO cult.”

“I think that’s more likely than Marvin the Martian."

"Jesus Christ," Reyes laughed, exasperated. "This should be fun."

"Listen, Monica, I could really use your help with Agent Scully…she’s got blinders on, in a real bad way. And I know how it goes when there’s personal involvement. I don’t blame her. But if I’m gonna crack this thing, I need some terrestrial support.”

Reyes snorted. “That’s the first time anyone has held me up as a pillar of terrestrial anything.”

“Well, I don’t know about ‘pillar,’" he conceded. “But you’ve got at least one foot on the ground, and I’ll take what I can get right now.”

They drove two hours to the crime scene, where Doggett had proposed a rendezvous with Scully and Skinner. It was beautiful, if harsh, country out here. Pale blonde hills stretching for miles beneath so much sky. You’d brand spots into your vision, staring up at the bright blue for too long. Doggett pulled off the road and parked beside the cordon: a single yellow police tape streamer, tied at one end to a thin wooden stake, fluttering loose at the other. He stepped out of the car, Reyes following his lead.

“Come on.” He started up the hill. “I’ll show you where they found her.”


	3. First Impressions

“Just listen to what she has to say.” Doggett almost added “please,” and then stopped himself, tired of cajoling these people into rationality. He stood at the roadside with AD Skinner and Agent Scully, who had arrived already in a sulk and now were verging on downright rude.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Scully was looking at him like he had just asked her to donate a kidney to Deputy Director Kersh.  

Doggett blinked at her. Could she give him the benefit of the doubt just this once? But he bit his tongue. Antagonizing her further was not a good idea. He held out his hand, instead. “Walk with me.”

He led Skinner and Scully up the hill, beyond which lay the field in which Theresa Hoese had been found. “Her name is Monica Reyes,” he told them. “She has her Masters in Religious Studies, and she specializes in ritualistic crime.”

“Ritualistic crime,” Scully scoffed. “Are we working the same case here?”

When they reached the top of the hill, Monica was facing away from them. Doggett called her name. As she turned, the wind caught her dark hair, snatching it from her face and neck, exposing a noble brow and haunting eyes. The imprint of a memory rested on her face, fading fast, as if she'd just been startled from a daydream. Then, like a cat attempting to subtly spit out a mouthful of feathers, she bowed her head and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. 

Doggett cringed. Maybe not the best first impression. Awkwardly, Monica nodded to Scully and Skinner, then tossed the butt, ground it into the dirt with the toe of her boot. And when no one spoke, Doggett took charge before things could get even more uncomfortable: “Agent Scully,” he said, “meet Monica Reyes. Agent Reyes, this is Doctor Dana Scully.”

Scully was utterly impassive; she barely glanced at Reyes before pining Doggett with a what-the-fuck glare. One of the women would have had to step closer to the other in order to facilitate a hand shake, but neither of them budged. Reyes’ hands stayed in her pockets, while Scully’s remained crossed over her chest.

Doggett stumbled on. “And, uhh, this is Assistant Director Skinner.”

He was really banking on Monica’s charm to thaw his partner. He’d seen it work before, on all types of men, and women--granted, Agent Scully seemed to be in a league of her own. 

But Monica was uncharacteristically withdrawn. While Doggett was making his introductions, she had nodded and smiled but her focus had been elsewhere. He had no idea where. Hopefully with Teresa Hoese and this kidnapping business, about which she was gonna say something brilliant any second now...

“Interesting case." 

Scully cocked her head. “Interesting?” She spat the word out like something rotten. "Is that it?"  

Now Monica's hands came out of her pockets and folded across her chest, mirroring Scully's stance. “What do you think happened?”

Scully seemed to have anticipated this question. “Isn’t that what you’re here to tell us?”

 

Overtop Scully’s head, Skinner scowled at Doggett. It was a warning:  _If this gets ugly, it's on you._

“I go on what I know, of course,” Monica replied. “But I try to stay open. To all possibilities.”

And there it was. The famous Dana Scully eye roll.

“Agent Scully—” Doggett jumped in, but Monica cut him off.

“As I understand it," she said, "many parts of this case fit within the conventionally accepted model for ritualistic crime. The victim’s injuries are similar to some documented cases of ritual abuse I’ve seen.”

Scully scoffed, again. “I don’t believe this.”

“Agent Reyes,” Skinner said, quickly. “With all due respect, this is an abduction we’re dealing with, and not by some cult.”

“With all due respect,” Monica snapped, “I wasn’t finished.”

"Agent Reyes," Skinner said, more firmly. "Watch your tone."

This was all wrong. It was all going so horribly wrong, and Doggett's ass was clenched so tight he could make diamonds out of potting soil. He looked over and saw a slight _smile_ on Scully's face. Amused,  apparently, by Monica's gall. 

“As I was saying," Monica continued, her voice softer but still firm, "many parts of this case fit a model of ritualistic abuse. But some don’t. I’ll need more information before I can say for sure.”

The smile left Scully's face. “Why don’t you cut the crap and just say what you mean, Agent Reyes.”

As if waiting for this very permission, Monica took a step closer to Scully and looked directly into her face. Scully gawked at the other woman's boldness, but she did not take a step backwards; she held her ground. Doggett watched this display with bated breath. Monica was an odd one, for sure. She seemed to be always toeing the line between curiosity and aggression, abstraction and calculation. It was an unnerving and intriguing combination. He watched as she studied Scully's face, for a few moments too long, before speaking. “I understand this case involves you personally.”

Scully looked stung, but recovered quickly. “It may involve someone close to me,” she said. “Stick to the facts, please, Agent Reyes.”

It wasn’t a question. And there was a viciousness to her words that conjured an image of a cornered animal, baring its teeth. Monica and Scully locked eyes. 

The hostility snapping back and forth between them was palpable to Doggett and Skinner. Even as adversaries, they made a striking pair. The winter sun brought Scully’s delicate profile into crisp relief, amplified the ferocious contrast of red hair, blue eyes, and stark white complexion. Reyes was maybe five inches taller than the other woman, and equally as ferocious, Doggett knew, though her presentation was smooth, where Scully’s was razor sharp. 

“What facts are those, Agent Scully? Because if I'm going to help you--"

" _I_  didn't ask for your help!" Scully shouted, spreading her arms emphatically. "And you are doing nothing but wasting my time!" 

Monica shook her head. "If you were the least bit communicative," she insisted, "We could have been halfway to finding Mulder by now."

"Alright, knock it off." Skinner moved in between the two women. He put a hand on Scully's shoulder, which she immediately shrugged off. "Everybody just calm down." 

"Don't say his name," Scully growled at Reyes. Her expression tightened, as if there was a drawstring threaded through her lips. "Don't you dare say his name."

Monica glanced at John. This was a lost cause.

“We have a patient missing,” Scully announced. “And I assure you, Satan and Jim Jones didn’t take her." She turned on her heel and stalked off down the hill, the brittle grass crunching under heels. 

Doggett cursed under his breath and went after her. 

 

Skinner made to follow, but Reyes held out her hand. "Can I just say something, while we have a moment alone?"

The wind blew Doggett’s voice uphill: “DON’T YOU TELL ME THIS IS ANOTHER ALIEN BOUNTY HUNTER--” 

\--followed by Scully's: “JESUS WOULD YOU GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS FOR ONE SECOND?”

Sort of alone.

"Yes?" Skinner acquiesced.

"I believe you and Scully," Reyes persisted. "I think it’s certainly possible that Mulder was abducted by an alien craft. I've been following this case for months."

Skinner glanced at her. "Certainly possible?"

“I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR YOUR CRAP,  _JOHN_ ”

Reyes nodded. "I learned a long time ago that in this line of work, belief is necessary, but it isn't enough. We must consider multiple points of view, even the ones that don't make sense to us personally. Or we might end up missing something important."

Skinner chewed on his lip, considering. "And what do you think we're missing here?"

"Synthesis," said Reyes, with a resolute smile.

Skinner had no idea what she meant, but he found himself returning her smile, and, moreover, found himself feeling good about it.

“YOU’RE A SCIENTIST, FOR PETESAKE!”

The good feeling faded quickly. The AD closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Reyes fished in her pocket for the pack of Morley’s. She pulled out two cigarettes, tucked the first one between her lips, and the other she offered to Skinner. “I don’t smoke,” he said. He eyed the cigarette a moment more before accepting it. Reyes held her lighter out for the AD.

“Yeah," she said. "Neither do I.”

“WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF?”

“NUTHIN! WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF?

Reyes took a long drag and blew a sloppy smoke ring. “So,” she said, “are they screwing?”

Skinner swallowed his entire inhale. “What?” he croaked. He coughed violently. “No? What?”

Reyes shrugged and handed him her water bottle. “Sounds like foreplay to me.”

Down below, Scully had had enough. “ARE YOU COMING, SKINNER?” she screamed. “QUIT DICKING AROUND!”

That was Reyes’ cue. She tossed her cigarette and mashed it into the ground next to the first one. “Mind if I talk to her?”

“At your own risk,” Skinner rasped, still recovering his breath.

Reyes jogged down the hill to Doggett, who was standing with his fingers laced behind his head, eyes closed. "John, I need the keys. You're riding with Skinner."

Doggett's eyes popped open. “Hold on, Monica, I don't think that's such a good idea..."

"Trust me." Reyes thrust out her hand. “Keys."

Doggett shook his head, “Maybe you oughta—”

“JOHN!”

He gaped at her and she gave him the look--the other look, the one with the clenched jaw. 

He stuck his hand in his pocket and fished out the keys.  

__

Reyes found Scully back at the cordon.  “Let’s make it a fruitful use of time,” she said.

Scully narrowed her eyes.  "Excuse me?"

"You said this has been a waste of time," Reyes replied. "Give me a chance to change that. You heading back to the hospital?”

“No," Scully snapped. "I mean, yes, I'm going to the hospital, but not with you."

“Come on.” Reyes jerked her head towards the gray sedan. “I could use the company.”

"You're out of your mind." Scully glanced over her shoulder, watching Doggett and Skinner's progress down the hill.

Reyes smirked. "I’ll get you there faster than either of those two, at least.”

Scully let out an annoyed sigh. “Agent Reyes, is this really necessary—”

“I'll make you a deal," Reyes insisted. "Ride with me back to the hospital. Hear me out. And if you're unconvinced by the time we get there, I swear to god I will book the first flight out of here. It's fucking freezing and the forecast calls for snow.”

Scully groaned. "This is ridiculous," she muttered. She looked up at Reyes, who was giving her an obnoxiously hopeful smile. " _You_ are ridiculous."

"Heated seats..."

"Ugh, FINE!" Scully stalked over to the passenger-side door of the sedan. "Let's go."


	4. Second Impressions

“Jesus, you weren’t kidding.” Scully clutched the handle above her as Reyes swung the car onto the highway. In the distance, the sun was sinking behind the ripple of hills.

Reyes drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, let her head tip back against the head rest, settling in. “Don’t you just love these country roads? All this open space, makes you feel untethered, like you could drive forever and never encounter another soul.”

“Or a speed limit, Agent Reyes…”

Reyes tipped her head in Scully’s direction. “Think we get any decent radio stations out here?”

“I have no idea, Agent Reyes, but I don’t particularly care to find out.”

Reyes sighed. “Of course not.”

Scully bristled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

"I can feel it," Reyes said. "Your fear. Constricting your mind."

"You can  _feel_  it?" 

"Well..." Reyes began, but decided against opening that can of worms at this particular juncture. She said, more simply, "It's just a vibe."

Reyes glanced at her passenger. The woman's lips were pursed, her eyes narrowed. She gripped her seat belt where it crossed her chest, so hard that her knuckles were paling. Everything about Scully's presentation, Reyes decided, from her understated, immaculate pantsuit to the economy of her speech was meant to deflect. It was why she had not only withstood but overcome the fact that she was a woman working in a patriarchal paramilitary culture. She took shit from no one; she was impervious, always on the offensive. She had to be. 

"What am I doing in this car, Agent Reyes?"

Reyes rallied herself. "I’d like to offer you a new theory on the case."

Scully said nothing, but the skeptical arch of an eyebrow told Reyes she was at least listening.

“John Doggett," Reyes began, "Is a great man. He's a great agent. But I don’t know why they assigned him to the X-Files…he's even more closed off than you are—” Reyes stopped herself. “Sorry. That came out wrong."

At this, Scully snorted. "It's true," she said, her tone surprisingly neutral. “I’m sure that’s why Kersh assigned him.”

Reyes considered. “To shut you down?”

“Essentially.” After a beat, Scully spoke again. “He…tries,” she said, though her tone was hardly convincing.

Reyes ran with it. "I'm not sure what it is in him that keeps getting in the way. Maybe it's the military mindset. Or the reality of being a beat cop. Whatever it is, I think that's why it's been so hard for him, these past five years. He needs cold, hard facts to make sense of the world, and we didn't get them. We never found Luke's killer. And he blames himself for that every single day."

"Wait." Scully let go of her seat belt. "You worked that case?"

Reyes tilted her head towards her passenger. "Well, yes," she said, somewhat confused. "That's how John and I know each other, and I think why he asked me here."

Scully looked stricken. "Oh, my god," she groaned. "I was such an asshole...to him, to  _you!_ "

Reyes couldn't help but chuckle. "I take it he didn't tell you any of this." 

"No!" Scully fumed. "He didn't even tell me that someone was with him when he called me and Skinner out here!"

Reyes rolled her eyes. "If it’s any consolation, my own summons was similarly mysterious."

Scully scrutinized Reyes. "Where did you say you flew from, again?"

"All the way from mid-70s and sunny New Orleans," Reyes lamented. Then, more seriously, she said, "You know how even the most ungenerous among us has a person, or people, they'd do anything for, no matter what?"

Scully gave Reyes a wistful smile. “Yeah.”

"John is one of my people." 

Trusting this sudden and inchoate intimacy between Scully and herself, Reyes continued: "I was the lead investigator on that case five years ago and I, uhh..." She paused to clear her throat. "I was the one who found Luke's body."

Scully let out a shaky breath. "Christ."

"I'll never understand exactly what John went through that day, and every day since," Reyes said. "But Luke's case...I can't forget it, either. It's like something won't let me."

"The death of a child," Scully murmured.

"Yes," Reyes agreed. "But there was more to it than that." She stared out the windshield at the unending road, the blank country. "The thing is, I didn't just stumble upon Luke. And I wasn't following a lead, either. It was like...I just  _knew_ , somehow, where he was. I felt him. I know it doesn’t make sense."

Reyes checked in with her passenger, worried she might have revealed too much, too soon. But Scully was rapt. Even in the half-light of dusk, Reyes could see the glisten of pain in her eyes.

"No," Scully whispered. "It makes sense. I..." She clasped her hands in her lap, hesitating. "I've seen things, too. Things I can't explain."  

The two women looked at each other.

“I get a lot of those…feelings,” Reyes admitted. “But as an investigator, I always try to start with the most rational explanation, and branch out from there.” 

“And what is your rational explanation of what happened to Agent Mulder?” Scully asked, as phlegmatically as she could. “A U.F.O. cult?”

“You were right,” Reyes conceded. “I mean, you were right that I was suggesting such an explanation. That we were dealing with cult leaders exploiting their members’ susceptibilities, or ‘beliefs,’ and potentially using those beliefs to justify instances or patterns of violent abuse. And I believe that that’s what Agent Doggett hoped I would suggest.” 

“But?” Scully anticipated Reyes’ train of thought. 

“But now,” Reyes continued, “I don’t think that’s what this is.”

“What changed your mind?” 

Reyes smiled. “You did.”

“Me? How’s that?”

“I believe there are unseen forces in the universe, kinda like vibrations, radio waves, energy signatures, and ever since I was a kid, I've been sensitive to them—I see you and your eyebrows, Agent Scully, but just hear me out.”

Scully opened her mouth in protest, but Reyes kept talking.

“I felt it when you first arrived with AD Skinner. I feel it even more talking with you now. Somehow, you’re at the center of this, and whatever ‘this’ is, it’s bigger, and way stranger, than I first thought.”

“That’s…not entirely inaccurate,” Scully admitted.

“I know you don’t know me and you have no reason to trust me, but I promise you I wouldn’t betray your confidence…especially in a situation like this. I do feel something. I think I might be able to help. I think I might be uniquely qualified to help, actually.”

Scully’s brow was incredulous, but a small smile played at her lips. “You’re a very strange person, Agent Reyes.”

Reyes smirked. “That's not entirely inaccurate."


	5. By the Light of the Paranormal Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much, everyone, for reading!! I'm so glad that this fic has an audience and even more grateful to you for your comments--they keep me motivated and sane (especially in the wake of that series finale jfc).

Without warning, the engine cut out and the car turned off, throwing the two agents into complete darkness.

“What the hell.” Reyes took her foot off the gas.

“What’s going on?” Scully demanded. “What did you do?”

“It just shut off. I didn’t even touch the ignition!” Reyes pumped the brakes, too hard, and she and Scully lurched forward against their seat belts. At least those were working.

Reyes kept a death grip on the wheel while the car slowed. She managed to drift the vehicle onto the shoulder as it rolled to a halt. Breathing fast, but otherwise unharmed, the agents checked in with each other.

“I’m gonna call Skinner,” Scully said, fishing in her coat pocket for her cell.

“Good idea,” Reyes grunted, tugging on the shifter, which was stuck in drive. It wouldn’t budge. "Man, everything's, like, completely seized up." She tried joggling the key in the ignition, but nothing happened. 

Beside her, Scully yelled at her mobile. “Piece of crap!" She smacked the device against her thigh, and then looked up at Reyes. "Damn thing is completely dead.”

“Let me try mine.”

“I had a nearly full battery when we set out...” Scully muttered.

“Mine's dead, too,” Reyes said, holding up her phone. She and Scully locked eyes.

“Something’s not right,” Scully said. She closed her eyes against a dizzy spell that went as soon as it came. “Where are we, anyway?”

Reyes held her hands out in front of her, palms down, like she was testing the air temperature.

"And what are you doing?" Scully demanded.

"Did you feel that?" Reyes murmured. "The polarity shift..." She squinted through the windshield into the thickening darkness. Then she was unbuckling her seat belt. “We need to get out of the car.”

“What?” Scully craned her head, searching for the threat Reyes seemed to be reacting to. “Why? Dammit, Reyes, what is going on?”

Reyes leaned over the center console and released Scully’s seatbelt. “Look at this.” She held her wrist up so that Scully could read her watch. Hour, minute, and second hand were all completely still. “Suspension of time, spontaneous electrical failure, geomagnetic reversal," Reyes rattled off, her eyes bright. "These are classic warning signs of spacecraft abduction, Agent Scully. We have to move.”

Scully hesitated. Even though she had spent the last four months trying to convince Agent Doggett that aliens were not only real but an active threat to mankind, she found herself resisting everything Reyes was saying. It just sounded so ridiculous when someone else said it out loud. She didn’t have much time to debate herself, though, because before she could say "geomagnetic reversal?" the passenger door opened and Reyes grabbed her by the arm.

They had walked maybe ten paces from the car when a soft light overtook them. Reyes and Scully looked at each other, wide-eyed, and then up at the sky.

“What on earth?”

The women had to shield their eyes, it was so bright against the black sky.

“Is that…the moon?”

The moon seemed the most likely explanation for the massive glowing orb in the sky, although it was unlike any moon either of them had ever seen. It was so large they both instinctively took a step backwards for fear it would crush them. It bathed everything below it in an eerie light. It seemed, too, that everything had gone silent and still around them.

“How did we not notice it before?” Reyes wondered out loud.

And then the jumbo moon waned before their eyes. 

“Some kind of lunar eclipse?” Scully ventured. 

The orb tapered to an oblong ellipse and to a crescent, and finally to a sliver of luminescent white, and as it collapsed, its wash of light narrowed into a single beam, like a spotlight but not as harsh, that centered on the roof of the abandoned sedan. Then it began to wander. Searching.  

Scully braced herself. She knew that it was meant for her. Reyes was tugging her hand and urging her to come on. Scully might have run. She wanted to, but there was no point: this was inevitable. The word, “inevitable,” formed in her mind, but it was not her word. It was as if someone had been whispering into her ear all her life and she’d only just noticed.

The beam of light crawled onto her feet and tracked up her legs, coming to rest on her stomach. Scully was so tense, she drew a breath in fearful anticipation...of what? Of pain? Of death? Of finding  _him_?

“Hey,” Reyes whispered. She was standing in front of Scully, peering down into her face. “Are you ok?”

Scully's heart was beating so fast she couldn’t bring herself to speak. Her gaze and her hands moved to her stomach, where the light lay like a blanket. She was barely showing yet, not in a way that would be detectable to anyone other than herself and her obstetrician. But somehow this thing, this light knew.  _Inevitable_. Scully flinched, and then sickened with panic. A sharp pain wrenched her belly, nearly doubled her over. She gripped at it, the pain, tried to hold it, and gritted her teeth against a scream.

Reyes was quick. Her hands hovered beneath Scully's elbows, anticipating a fall, but hesitant to touch her lest she aggravate the injury. "Scully?"  

The voice stirred again in Scully’s mind. This moment, too, felt like an inevitability; that she should be standing out here in the dark, in the middle of nowhere, with this woman, this stranger, with her metaphysical inclinations and odd, penetrating eyes. She looked up, panting, and saw Reyes there, heard her say  _you're ok, I've got you_ , felt her arms beneath her own, supporting her, and it was like she was the only solid and true and good thing in the world. This realization brought momentary relief. Scully's panic ebbed. She took a deep breath to stabilize her oxygen levels, but the exhale wrenched her insides once more. She cried out, it was too much.

“Can you tell me what's wrong?” Reyes' voice floated through the haze of Scully's pain. “Where exactly does it hurt?”

Instinct, or something like it, compelled Scully to pull one of Reyes’ hands from her elbow and press it against the swell of her belly. Almost at once, the pain dulled, replaced by a pleasant warmth that spread throughout her body. Scully held Reyes’ hand against her, afraid to let go. “This is good,” she managed. “It’s helping. Could you…more…”

Reyes adjusted the angle of her wrist. “Lean on me,” she said, as she pushed gently against Scully’s abdomen, giving her the pressure she needed. Scully sighed, grateful, and dropped her forehead onto the shoulder Reyes offered.

“Better?” Reyes asked, quietly.

“That’s perfect.”

They stood like that for a minute or so, Scully hunching into Reyes, the taller woman’s hand like a root between them, both of their bodies lit by the strange moonlight. Scully no longer felt afraid; instead she felt like laughing. She had crawled inside Reyes’ warm leather smell and she was safe there. She was vaguely aware that she was high, higher than she’d ever been in her life. And it felt amazing. “Agent Reyes,” she giggled, “Did we get stoned?”

“Not exactly,” Reyes muttered. She seemed unaffected: If anything, she seemed agitated. “I think I accidentally activated some kind of opioid receptor in your brain.”

Scully burst out laughing. “You’re full of _shit_ ,” she slurred, gazing up at Reyes. She was so close, and so warm. Scully reveled in the feeling. “Your hair smells GOOD,” she babbled. “Like smoke and honey.”

“Scully.” Reyes started to say something and then stopped. She stared at the redhead through heavy-lidded eyes. Luminous eyes…whose intensity had so unnerved Scully while they conversed on the hill, and in the car, now exerted a gravitational pull. Scully peered into them unabashedly. It was impossible to say what color they were. How curious! One moment tranquil and dark, nearly cobalt, the next, glinting and tawny. “Your eyes are never the same,” Scully said to Reyes, trying to articulate her observation. She frowned. That wasn’t it. “I mean, everything is always in them.”

“Scully…” Reyes said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Scully tried again. “It’s like…how sunlight hits the water.” 

Reyes’ breath caught in her throat, just as her hand tensed on Scully’s belly. Vibrations—there was no better word for the sensation—began to emanate from Reyes’ palm. “That tickles,” Scully giggled.

“Sorry,” Reyes breathed, and her warm mouth, grazing Scully’s ear, sent a shiver down the redhead’s spine.

Scully wanted to say more about light refraction, but all the sudden, Reyes stiffened, her hands falling to her sides.

And then sobriety hit Scully like that bastard of a wave that comes up behind a swimmer as he’s wading to shore. “What the fuck.” She blinked rapidly. Her head felt like it was stuffed full of cottonballs. “Jesus,” she groaned, as they dissolved. The first thing she noticed as she came back to reality was her hands, stretched in front of her and tangled in Reyes’ hair. Scully snatched them back at once, burning with embarrassment. But a closer look at Reyes quickly banished that feeling. “Agent Reyes?”

The woman was non-responsive. Her eyes were closed, and darting back and forth under the thin skin of her eyelids. She seemed to be in some sort of trance. Her lips were moving, whispering something, but the words were too fast and too quiet for Scully to make out. “Agent Reyes!” she tried again, shaking her. “Can you hear me?”

Reyes’ eyes snapped open. They were still seeing whatever it was that had so entranced her, even as she looked into Scully’s eyes.

“He’s close,” Reyes said, her voice strange.

“Who is?”

A thin sheen of sweat had broken across Reyes’ forehead. “The man…it’s him…Mulder.”

Scully’s heart nearly stopped. “What?” She looked around them, and saw nothing but dark country. “Where?”

Reyes closed her eyes again and winced. Her brow was drawn in concentration, jaw clenched so hard her temples flared.

“Monica?” Scully laid her hand against Reyes’ forehead, checking for a fever. “Stay with me…”

Just then, Reyes jolted from her trance with a gasp. She dropped to her knees and gulped air like she’d just been drowning.

Scully knelt down beside her. “Try to calm your breathing,” she instructed Reyes. “We need to get you to a hospital as soon as possible. I think you might have just had a seizure.”

Reyes shook her head. “I’m fine,” she panted.

Scully gave a bark of a laugh. “You are clearly  _not_  fine.”

“No, really,” Reyes insisted. “This happens somewhat frequently.” She took several slow, deep breaths.

“Somewhat frequently?” Scully repeated.

Reyes smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “Remember how I told you I get these feelings sometimes?”

Scully’s eyes narrowed. “You call  _that_  a ‘feeling’?”

“Scully, listen to me,” Reyes said seriously, getting to her feet, surprisingly steady, and offering Scully a hand up to hers. Her voice was full of energy as she spoke to the other agent. “I saw Mulder. Alive. They’re letting him go.”

Scully drew back, suddenly immensely afraid. She stared at Reyes, and then turned away, overwhelmed and fighting tears.

“You can trust me,” Reyes said, gently.

At that, Scully whipped around. “Why? Why should I trust you?” she demanded. “After all of… _that_?” Scully gestured between the two of them. “Whatever that was. How could you possibly know if Mulder’s alive?”

Reyes’ face was grave. “The same way I knew Luke Doggett was dead.”

Scully buried her face in her hands. This was nonsensical. And her head was throbbing. “Did you drug me?” she asked, finally, lifting her gaze.

Reyes bit her lip, which Scully interpreted as an admission of guilt. Seeing this, Reyes said quickly, “No. Not technically. It’s not what you think.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Reyes cringed. “I-I may have accidentally manipulated the electrical activity in your brain, which might have induced euphoria—I’m so sorry. I never meant for it to happen, but things got way out of control. You have the strongest induction current I’ve ever felt.”

Scully was frowning incredulously, shaking her head as Reyes rambled on.

“That’s not possible,” Scully was protesting, “It’s just not—” when a POP sounded behind them, followed by the wheezing rattle of the car’s engine coming back to life.

Reyes turned and gasped. “Oh, my God.”

Scully followed Reyes’ eye line, and this time she saw it: A massive disc shaped craft in the sky, flying overhead.

“Oh, my god,” Scully echoed. She sprinted after Reyes towards the car, slid into the passenger seat.

“Seatbelt!” Reyes yelled. Then she floored it.


	6. Bravo, Tango, Foxtrot

They chased the UFO back down the highway, in the opposite direction they’d been headed.

“You’re gonna fry the engine,” Scully screamed.

“No I’m not,” Monica insisted.

“Yes, you are!”

“We’ll worry about it when it happens—oh, no you don’t, you assholes!”

The UFO had veered sharply to the south, while the road the two agents were on traveled east to west.

“Do you have a map?” Scully asked. “We have to find somewhere to turn or we’ll lose it!”

“Check the glove compartment,” Reyes said. “And hold on.” She cut the wheel, sending them rattling southwards across a field.

“Jesus.” Scully braced herself as best she could with a hand against the roof of the car and after a few tries managed to pop the glove compartment. “It’s empty!” she shouted, her teeth clattering in her skull. Just then, the car struck a particularly deep rut in the ground. She and Reyes thumped painfully along with the straining chassis. “The fuck is this?” Scully shouted. “World’s largest ant farm?”

“I think it’s landing.” Reyes cried out, her voice shuddering along with the car. “Look!” She lifted one hand from the wheel to point and then quickly replaced it.

The craft seemed to be circling the hill that rose in front of them in the darkness, and then it sank. It dropped quickly and then disappeared, leaving behind a spectral glow in the sky.

“Shit.” Reyes toggled the headlights and squinted, trying to make out the landscape. “There must be a valley up ahead.” She looked to Scully for instruction, but the other agent was looking right back at her for the same thing. And so they hurdled on into the darkness, towards the faint glow.

Scully’s pulse was too fast. “Can you see anything?”

Reyes started to respond but then she saw the cliff’s edge they were approaching straight on. She wrenched the wheel sharp, mashed her foot on the brake pedal. They went skidding sideways, off-balance, spraying stones and dirt. Reyes felt the car start to tip. “Scully, hold on!” She took her foot off the brake and put them into a spin. Both women were thrown flat against their seatbacks and held there by centrifugal force as the car spun itself out and regained its balance.

As soon as she felt traction under the tires, Reyes slowed the vehicle to a stop. “Are you ok?”

Scully was panting, her eyes wide. Reyes herself was shaking, her entire body vibrating as if she were hooked up to the engine of the car.

Scully took a deep breath. “I’m fine.” She felt for the grip of her gun where it protruded from the holster at her hip. Just to make sure it was still there. “Let’s go.”

It took a moment for the agents to get their feet under them, but soon they were running for the cliff’s edge and the light source below. They kept pace with each other and reached the drop off in sync. Each woman flung out a protective arm, to stop the other from going over; the awkward gesture eased into an entwining of arms and a stunned embrace as they registered what lay below. There it was, at the bottom of the valley, a saucer-shaped craft, ringed with lights that illuminated the fog floating around it. “No fucking way.”

 

The ground was maybe thirty feet below them. The descent was steep, but seemed navigable on foot. If there was any doubt as to whether they were going in for a closer look, Scully erased it by slipping from Reyes’ arms and pitching down the slope. Reyes had no choice but to follow.

There was no graceful way to get down the hill. It was dark, the grass was tall, and thick, and sizeable rocks jutted out unpredictably from the ground. The agents had made it about halfway down, scrabbling on hands and knees at this point, when Reyes saw the truck appear.

“Scully!” Reyes hissed.

Scully ignored her, creeping further down the slope.

“Goddammit,” Reyes muttered, scrambling after her companion. Without warning, the UFO craft hummed to life; something had been set into motion. The lights were bright as stadium floodlights, the agents couldn’t look directly at the craft. They could sense it lifting off of the ground; the humming was louder and the sheer size of it was palpable as electromagnetic vibrations, sloughing off of the craft in waves. Reyes crawled on her elbows and knees to where Scully lay on the ground with her hand pressed like a visor to her forehead.

“Scully, come on.”

The other woman’s voice was hollow when she spoke. “We’re too late.”

“No,” Reyes hissed. “Look down there!” She pointed at the truck, and then she was the one darting off without warning. The truck had moved. It was parked almost directly beneath the departing UFO and two men were emerging from the cabin. Reyes practically somersaulted the rest of the way down the hill. “Stop!” she managed, at the bottom. And, when she was on her feet and could draw more breath: “I’m a federal agent!”

 She gave chase, but didn’t manage to get far before tripping over something fleshy and dense. She went sprawling, but managed to roll and absorb the impact. There was a rustle behind her and she turned to see Scully fight her way through a pair of bramble bushes.

“Reyes, the truck!”

“I see it—Scully, over here.” Reyes pointed at the object that had tripped her. She’d known as she was falling what it was.

“Oh, my god.” Scully rushed to the body and knelt down beside it.

“Scully…”

“Go. You go!” Scully waved her on, indicating that she should pursue the men in the truck. Reyes took off at a sprint. The men had seen them and were hurrying to move something between them. Reyes slowed so that she could draw her gun. Still moving, she fired at the sky. The sound of a gunshot usually spooked a person long enough to subdue them. Not these men. They slung their cargo into the bed of the truck. Reyes saw feet. Naked legs.

“Stop right there!” Reyes yelled. But they were hell bent on their mission. One of them jumped in the bed with the body, the other ran around to the cabin and gunned the engine. Reyes had a split second clear view before the truck disappeared into shadow. BTF-2478. At least there was that. She committed the image of the plate to memory as the the truck growing smaller in the distance, driving on what appeared to be a dirt road that led out of the valley opposite the incline that she and Scully had come down. Scully.

Reyes jogged back to the other agent. “Agent Scully?” she called out, and received no response. “Scully?” Still nothing. Reyes retraced her steps and found the woman sitting on the ground a foot away from the body, staring at it. “Is it him?” Scully’s face was blank, motionless. Reyes knelt beside her and took a second look at the prone body. Not him. Granted, she had only seen photographs of the missing Agent Mulder, but she knew somehow this wasn’t him.

“We should think about getting us…and him out of here,” Reyes said, softly.

Scully nodded.

Together they hiked back up the incline. It was a risk, leaving the body, but they were effectively off the grid down in that remote valley, with no way of calling anyone for help. Even back in the car, there was no discernable signal. Reyes drove them back to the road. “At least our tracks are clear,” she noted. “I bet you in the light of day it’s gonna look like some coked out yokel drove a plow through that field.”

Scully let her head fall back against the headrest. “Wouldn’t be stranger than the truth.”

A few miles down the road, Reyes’ cell phone picked up a signal. She handed it to Scully. “You make the call. I’m gonna keep going this way cause I think we’re coming up on a cell tower, but let me know if the signal gets worse.”

Doggett picked up on the first ring. “John Doggett.”

“Agent Doggett, this is Agent Scully.” Wincing, Scully held the phone away from her ear as Doggett’s barrage of questions blasted through the speaker:

“Scully, where are you! Is Monica with you? Are you two alright?”

“Agent Doggett!” she snapped, shutting him up, “Agent Reyes and myself are both fine. We’re on the highway heading…”

“North,” Reyes supplied.

“North. There’s been another…sighting. And we’ve got another body. Male…No, it’s not him...hey, also, we need a plate run, it’s—ok…"

"BTF," Reyes said. "Two four seven eight."

"Bravo, tango, foxtrot..." Scully relayed.  "two four seven eight…thanks.”

 


	7. A Good Night's Sleep

Skinner looked from the banged up, mud-caked rental car to the two female agents, similarly banged up and mud-caked--Reyes' pant leg was ripped from ankle to knee, flapping in the breeze, and Scully's face was streaked with dirt à la high school linebacker--and back to the rental car, which was now hissing steam.

"Well, the steering wheel started to shake and the brakes squealed." Reyes was running through a list of vehicular failures she and Agent Scully had encountered. "And there was a charred smell," she said. "Like bacon?" 

Skinner was barely listening, he was so cold.

"And that weird clicking noise," Scully added. 

"Right," Reyes nodded. "Did that start before or after the, uhh, 'off-roading'?"

"I hate to say it," Doggett interrupted, chuckling, "But lookin at the two o' you and hearin your story, this whole thing sounds more like a redneck spring break than a UFO chase. See any chicks mud wrestling?" 

Scully glared at him, her mouth hanging open, brow wrinkled in disgust. 

"Anyway," Reyes continued, completely ignoring Doggett's remark, "There was a clicking noise under the car, and also there's a slow leak in the left rear tire, which, actually now that I think about it, might not have been our fault, because--"

Skinner held up his hand. "Thank you, Agent Reyes," he winced. "I really don't need to hear the rest. Just...put it all in the report." It was a miracle the car had made it to the hospital parking lot before crapping out entirely. Scully had called Skinner's cell about fifteen minutes ago, as he and Doggett were driving back from the supposed dump site, requesting a ride to the motel where they all were staying. "What happened to my rental car?" Doggett mouthed at Skinner, but Scully had already hung up. So now, here they were. And there was Doggett's answer, hissing away and smelling like burnt bacon. 

"The nurse claims it was the doctor who ordered the transfer," Scully was saying. The agents were back to discussing the case. 

"But that's impossible," said Doggett. "The man's been at home all day." 

"Impossible or not, the footage checks out," said Reyes. "It's definitely him. Or his non-existent twin brother."

Scully gave Doggett a pointed look. A "where have we seen this before?" look.

Skinner saw it, and saw Doggett about to react. "Alright, let's pack it in," Skinner boomed. He was not about to spectate another Scully-Doggett shouting match. "Everyone's tired. I'm freezing my ass off." He looked at Scully and Reyes. "And you two need a shower." Pause. Rewind. "Showers," Skinner said quickly. "I mean, you both need to shower. Not together, obviously, I just....oh, fuck me. Everyone get in the car."

Scully had already climbed into the passenger seat of Skinner's SUV and pulled the door shut.

Outside, Doggett hooted with laughter. "My man!" He clapped Skinner on the back.

"Alright, alright," Skinner muttered, shrugging Doggett's hand off. He gestured towards the wrecked sedan. "Make sure you got all your shit out of there."

"Oh!" Reyes exclaimed. "Almost forgot about my--" 

Before she could finish her sentence, Doggett had bounded over to the car and was pulling Reyes' suitcase from the backseat. "There," he pronounced, once he'd stowed it in the SUV's crawl space. "Now I can sleep easy knowing I haven't been _completely_ useless today." 

Reyes rolled her eyes. "Thanks, John," she deadpanned.

With a shit-eating grin, Doggett opened the rear door for her and stood beside it like a chauffeur. Reyes didn't miss a beat. She sauntered up to the SUV and made as if to brush past Doggett, but at the last moment, she grabbed his wrist in one hand, shoulder in the other, and turned her head so that her lips were right up against his ear when she spoke. "What a gentleman," she purred. "You wanna buckle my seatbelt, while you're at it?" She felt his pulse jump. Pulling back, she saw that the shit-eating grin had vanished, replaced by a tense stare. Mission accomplished, she released him and climbed into the SUV. 

The conversation was sparse during the drive to the motel. Doggett, who couldn't look Reyes in the eye, delivered a laconic debrief to the entire car. They had a team out scouring the field where Scully and Reyes had seen the UFO. The body Reyes had tripped over had been recovered and was on its way to the county police, where it would be identified and processed. Scully asked if the autopsy had been scheduled; Doggett was unsure. He suggested to his partner that, given her emotional involvement, they let one of the county's doctors handle it. At this, Scully turned around in her seat. "I can handle it," she snapped, with a scowl so blistering that Doggett was compelled to pull out his cell and make the call to the Helena PD.

Skinner pulled off the highway into the parking lot of the Econolodge, just as Doggett was getting off the phone. The autopsy was scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, to be performed by Scully. He had asked also about the license plate he'd submitted for a trace, but no matches had turned up yet.  "Lady says they gotta lot of old registration papers still stuck in filing cabinets," Doggett marveled. "Check back tomorrow."

"Of course," Scully muttered. 

Having pinned the last of her energy on the identification of that truck, Reyes slumped back into her seat, exhausted.

 

Once they'd parked, Scully beelined for her room. Skinner said goodnight and trudged off to his.

Doggett accompanied Monica to her room, neither of them speaking. Once she'd got the door open and rolled her luggage inside, she turned back to him. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but released a shaky sigh instead. 

"Hey, now." Doggett laid his hand on her arm. "You done good work today. I know it wasn't easy."

Monica placed her hand over his. "Hard case," she said, quietly. 

"We'll get to the bottom of it," Doggett assured her. He studied Monica's face. There was turmoil mounting like storm clouds behind her eyes. "You alright?"

Monica squeezed his hand. "I just need some sleep."  

 

Reyes woke to a quiet but persistent knocking at her door. She squinted at the alarm clock on the bedside table. 3:11 AM. She climbed out of bed and grabbed the robe she'd draped over the nearby desk chair. She moved silently to the door and pressed her eye to the peephole. She had expected Doggett--they'd worked together before and woken each other in the middle of the night--but this time it wasn't him. Reyes immediately reached up to release the chain lock and opened the door to find Scully standing there in pajamas and slippers. Her eyes were bloodshot and she was holding herself tight, trembling. Wordlessly, Reyes ushered the smaller woman inside.

"Scully, what's the matter?" Reyes peered into Scully's face. "How long have you been out there?"

Scully shook her head. She took a few steps into the room and then stopped. After a long pause she said, "I wanted the cold." The woman seemed to be in shock. Her movements and speech were slow and disjointed.

Reyes went to her, took her hands--ice cold, limp. "Whatever it is," Reyes whispered, "you can tell me."

Scully looked up and made eye contact for the first time. "I saw him," she whispered back.

Reyes didn't need to ask who the "him" in question was. "Where?"

"Standing by the window in my room." Scully smiled bitterly. "It wasn't real."

Reyes gripped Scully's hands tighter to stop them shaking. "What is real and what is corporeal are not always the same thing."

Scully said nothing in response, just shivered more violently.

"Can I draw you a bath?" Reyes offered. "Or run the shower hot so that it steams up the bathroom? Less of a shock to the system." 

Scully shook her head. "I'm not cold," she whispered. She walked away from Reyes and took a seat on the bed. 

She looked so lost sitting there. And so small. One strong gust of wind might blow her away. Needing to do something, but unsure of what exactly would be best, Reyes located the coffee maker, took the pot into the bathroom and filled it with water. "I'm making us tea," she announced, coming back into the room. Scully barely looked up. Reyes poured the water into the machine anyway and set it to boil. There was nothing in the way of tea bags other than a few packets of Liptons, which were so discolored they might be decades old. But that was a non-issue, as Reyes always traveled with a stash of her favorite herbal blend. 

"You think he's alive," Scully said. 

Reyes turned around. She could feel Scully's mind circling the drain, searching for some kind of purchase. "I do," Reyes said, firmly. "And so do you. Why else would he have appeared to you tonight?"

"No," Scully said forcefully. And then, more quietly: "No." 

Reyes bit her lip, to keep herself from saying the wrong thing.

"What I saw wasn't Mulder," Scully said in a thin, shaky voice. "Even though I thought, for a moment...he seemed so real... "

It happened in the space of a breath. All the pain and fear that had been expanding in Scully's chest ever since he'd been taken, six months ago, all of that anguish and exhaustion. Numbers, equations, formulas, theories flew through her mind. Pressure equals force divided by area. Tension equals mass times gravity plus or minus mass times acceleration. It only takes a chill breeze to inflate the smoke-stained, moth-eaten curtains into that familiar specter; it only takes a sharp edged thought to burst the balloon skin of one's sanity.

A silent cry seized Scully's throat. She was suspended like that for a moment, in open mouthed garish arrest. Finally, thankfully, the sob came and she howled as she buried her face in her hands.

Reyes stared for a moment, shocked by the violent reaction. She took a step towards Scully and then stopped, checking the instinct to go to the woman and wrap her in a tight embrace. Scully might not want that. In fact that might be the last thing she wanted right now. When they'd come into physical contact before, Reyes could barely control herself. It wouldn't do to accidentally mess with Scully's brain waves again.

But then Scully looked up, through the tangled curtain of her hair, and her eyes sought Reyes’. There was no hostile slant to her brow, no reticent tension in her lips. Scully's were the guileless, drowning eyes of a terrified animal. If she could have articulated her plea she would have, but language had failed her. 

Reyes heard it, nonetheless. She closed the distance between them and, taking a seat on the bed, drew Scully to her. “It's ok," she soothed. "Let it out. Let it happen."

Scully fit perfectly in Reyes' arms, her flushed face buried in the crook of the other woman' neck. Scully's tears flowed hot and unchecked along Reyes' collarbone and down her chest, and everywhere their bodies touched, heat began to build.

"You're ok," Reyes murmured, rubbing circles into the silk of Scully's pajama shirt.

“It’s too much,” Scully gasped. “I can’t…I can’t live like this.”

Reyes said nothing, just held the other woman and let her talk.

“I love him so much that sometimes—sometimes I think it’s going to kill me.” Scully trembled with the effort of articulating her grief. “And he isn’t here. He is never here and it's not fair!” She moaned through chattering teeth. “Goddammit!” she screamed into Reyes' chest, and then collapsed into tears again.

Reyes held her tight, rocked her, felt her own heart breaking from Scully's pain. The desire to slip inside Scully's head and smooth the jagged hyperactivity was almost unbearable. “Breathe, Dana," Reyes said, resisting. "Try to breathe.”

Scully pulled back from Reyes’ shoulder and took a great gulping breath. She shook her head and looked into Reyes’ face. “I can’t—even if we were together…” her voice gave way and she rasped, “I’d never know…if he’d come home at night...oh, god, I can’t…”

Reyes felt Scully’s tremors intensify along with her tears; the woman’s breathing was shallow and quick, scraping her throat on the inhale. If she wasn’t already having a panic attack, she would be soon and it was all Reyes could do to stop her mind from folding into Scully's. 

"Monica," Scully whimpered. "Please...make it stop, like you did before."

Reyes sighed. This was against her better judgment. She had never done anything like what she did to Scully out in that field, beneath the strange moon. She had no idea if it was replicable, or what kind of damage she might do if she screwed up. But Scully said "please," again and looked at Reyes with such trust and so much pain that Reyes felt her better judgment evaporating.

She released Scully and crawled to the head of the bed and got under the covers. She patted the mattress beside her. "Come here."

Scully's breathing seemed to stabilize as she was distracted by Reyes' sudden movement. As instructed, she crawled up the bed and slid under the covers.

"I'm going to hold you from behind," Reyes said, as she curled her body around Scully's. "And apply pressure to your chest." She looped an arm through Scully's and another beneath her, so that her forearms were crossed atop Scully's sternum. She squeezed. Not tight enough to stop Scully's breathing but tighter than one would hold a child, or pet. Reyes spoke softly into Scully's ear: "The point is to apply pressure--"

"To suppress the sympathetic nervous system," Scully finished, through chattering teeth. "Decrease production of cortisol, increase endorphins, slow the metabolic rate, slow the heart rate."

"Very good, doc." Reyes said. "If you can, try to breathe, slowly, against my hands." She pressed her hands against Scully's breastbone. “That's it,” she said, when she felt Scully’s chest expanding. “Slow it down just a bit.” Reyes didn't have to try at all to find Scully's frequency, or to diffuse the crackle of overstimulated nerves in Scully's brain. All she had to do was yield to the urge she'd felt all along, the urge to melt into this woman; to realize that she trusted, absolutely, in the connection between them. They both did.

It wasn't long before Scully's heart rate slowed considerably against Reyes' palms. "You're doing so well," Reyes said, softly.

Scully let out a huge breath of relief as all the fear and anxiety evacuated her head, leaving behind only solid, vanilla-scented warmth. She was floating again, and, at the same time, she was secure, and at peace. She could feel Reyes' strong, steady breath guiding her own, and the amniotic heat of Reyes' body enveloping her completely. "Stay with me," Scully mumbled into the pillow.

"Seeing as how _y_ _ou_ are in _my_ bed," Reyes whispered, teasing, "I'm not going anywhere."

When Reyes spoke, her lips grazed the nape of Scully's neck, stiffening the downy hairs there. Scully purred as a flutter of pleasure brushed the base of her skull and whisked down her spine, curling each vertebra as it passed. 

"How're you doing over there?" Reyes asked, and was answered by a soft moan, a ripple of hips. Reyes lay her cheek down on the pillow, her forehead nestled in Scully's soft hair. She didn't speak again. The huskiness of Scully's voice, the clean smell of her body, the molten pressure of her ass against Reyes' pelvis...all of it was enough to fuse the two of them together if they weren't careful, Reyes thought.

"You make me better," Scully slurred, into the silence. She was already half asleep.

The last thing Reyes remembered before she, too, fell asleep was the gentle squeeze of Scully's hands around her own, where they rested, still, atop Scully's steady beating heart.

 

 


	8. Deconstructing the Impossible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know, but rich in subtext?

Reyes stood with the other agents in a ring around the man's body. It was eight degrees fahrenheit but she barely registered the cold.  

He had been dead for at least 24 hours. Even she could see that, and she was no forensics expert. She gathered from the murmurs around her that it had likely been longer. Days, even. 

A lone siren sounded in the distance. 

Doggett had tried to block Scully's view but he couldn't hold her. She'd broken through, had taken one look at the body, and dashed off into the frigid night. 

Reyes knew better than to follow her.  


Reyes desperately did not want to be there herself, standing around, waiting for obsolete paramedics. But being anywhere else seemed all the worse. So for the moment, she stayed put, avoiding eye contact and all the awkward expressions of sympathy it would entail.

Bizarrely, the easiest place for Reyes' gaze to rest was upon the corpse itself. She studied his face, instead of any of the others present. Maybe he had been handsome before, she considered, but now the skin of his cheeks was scored like he'd been branded, stretched out, smeared with dirt.

She hunched with arms crossed over her belly, clamped her hands into her armpits. It was so fucking cold, but Reyes felt nothing external to her own angry pain. Any thought of Scully, which was every thought in Reyes’ mind, was a nauseating tug at her stomach, a white hot spear through her heart. How had everything turned out so wrong?

 

_In the morning she is gone, but her presence lingers. The bedsheets are mussed. The pillowcase is wrinkled where her soft head had lain the night before. Her smell, her clean, cool smell, is rolled up in the comforter, it's in Reyes' hair and pressed into the camisole she's wearing. She doesn't want to get up. She doesn't want to shower and have nothing left but the memory of Scully's body in her arms._

_They pass each other, later, in the hallway at the police station. Scully seeks and holds Reyes' gaze. She says nothing, admits nothing, but the new softness in her eyes is unmistakable._

_After the autopsy, Reyes finds her sobbing in the women's restroom. She's still in her bloodied scrubs. But Reyes has good news. We have a trace on the plate, Reyes tells her, and Scully nods, comes back to life, takes a deep breath. She starts to reach for the string that cinches her scrubs at the back of her neck, but then she stops. She turns around, presents her back to Reyes. Could you help me out of these?_

_His real name is Travis Clayton Moberly but he calls himself "Absalom." Claims to be helping abductees like Teresa Hoese, like Mulder. They arrest him, anyway. In the small harsh room, Scully approaches the table where he sits. Reyes and Skinner watch through the one-way mirror. Scully draws from her pocket a small square of paper. It is well-handled, yellowing, scuffed at the edges. I want the truth, Scully says. And with trembling fingers, she unfolds the printout along well-worn creases. Have you seen this man?_

_It's 4 PM and already dark outside. Reyes kneels in front of the VCR, Scully stands behind her; both of them watch carefully. Scully puts her hand on Reyes' shoulder as she leans forward to point. There! She touches the screen. I know that man. His name is Jeremiah Smith. Skinner gets on the radio: We've got an I.D. on the second man, and believe he's still at the compound._

_It's 10 PM when Skinner pulls Reyes out of the impromptu interrogation room where Scully is questioning Jeremiah Smith. A phone call from Doggett, just now, he says. And it's the one they've all been waiting for. Reyes shakes her head. That's impossible. It's impossible. I can't say how I know but I know that it's impossible. Tears fog the lenses of Skinner's glasses. The building they're in is one of many in Absalom's ramshackle compound. The hallway in which they stand is dark and drafty. Behind the closed door, Scully screams at Smith. Skinner bows his head. He pleads with Reyes, but neither of them understands what he's asking. I don't know how to tell her, he says. And then Scully is there, in front of them, saying what? what? what? is it him?_

 


End file.
